It's Just Goodnight, and Not Goodbye

     I didn't cry when Liam started Kindergarten, but I truly did think I would cry when we dropped him off at summer camp (I didn't cry; apparently I only cry during cheesy movies like The Time Traveler's Wife). Liam got to go to the same summer camp that I used to go to, and that Bill went to so many years ago.  This camp was a special place long before I knew who archery instructor with glasses was B-)  Long before we were counselors, we were campers on opposite sides of the flag pole trying to shout camp songs to see if the Boys or the Girls were louder.  I don't exactly know if Bill felt the same way, but the smell of camp, walking from my cabin past the playground and to the rec field, I specifically remember thinking that I was only truly happy here at camp. That's because at camp, we left everything behind and started fresh.  Bill described it to me best: "On Sunday everyone felt a little lonely, a little nervous but by Wednesday's talent show you were having the time of your life... and by the time Thursday night came, you couldn't imagine going back to the real world. On Friday night, when the parents came you wanted nothing more than to just stay a bit longer with your new friends; your new family."
     I don't have many pictures of myself at Camp but I know how happy I was there.  I don't remember everyone I bunked with, ate with, danced with, ran with, swam/sung/swung with or made fly off of the teeter-totter.  But I do remember that there were many many friends that made the place so special.  I remember the campfires, the full sky of stars above, the song of taps calling us all to our bunks.  I remember feeling completely safe, protected and happy at camp... utterly at peace.  

   















     But I digress.  When we pulled into camp 17 years later with our son, eyes wide with anticipation in the backseat, Bill and I shared a special moment of happiness and pride.  We were coming back to our roots.  For a moment Bill was that archery instructor again (even as he complained that they had replaced Advanced Archery with a Bee Bee Gun course) and I was that perky teenager teaching little kids how to cook banana boats in aluminum foil on a small campfire (recipe: throw a peeled banana with marshmallows and chocolate chips into a square of aluminum foil; wrap it up and cook it up).  We dropped Liam off in his cabin and, even though it was a boy's cabin, I looked up at the exposed rafters and the ultra-twin mattresses and it brought me back, way back. 
     We walked to the flagpole and I remembered standing across the way from Bill, when we were a bit older.  I remembered shouting even louder because now I had someone to compete with on the other side.  I remembered sitting at the picnic tables surrounding the flag pole (even though they have all been moved to the new dining hall), drinking our cartons of milk and laughing with our new friends.  The playground was the same- I'm surprised the teeter totters are still there, and at the same time reaffirmed that at least someplace in this world it's still okay to shoot someone up 3 feet in the air and have them come crashing down to Earth on the woodchips.  The impossibly tall swing sets that I remember trying to flip over.  The rec hall was still there, made of that corrugated plastic roofing material that is sooo loud in a rainstorm.  All in all, camp remained the same.
     Was Liam's camp experience for me/us or for him?  Well, we picked him up only a couple of days later (camp is shorter for the younger guys) and he was brimming with excitement.  He told us about all of the swimming, and the swinging and the singing as if we didn't already know.  Just before we left, we took a bathroom break.  This might not sound significant, but hear me out.  When we got to the bathrooms, Bill and each took a right, into the "old" bathrooms. You know, the types of bathrooms with concrete floors and plywood doors.  And Liam took a left into the "new" bathrooms.  So while Bill and I remembered the lines for the showers and spitting our toothpaste into those same old sinks, Liam opted for the new.  Okay, I admit my example is a little sketchy, maybe a stretch for you to buy into... but to me it's symbolic.  Sending Liam to camp might have been more for Bill and I than it was for Liam, I do admit that.  Hey, maybe it was even an excuse for Bill and I to drive through those red gates 17 years later.  But ultimately, it was an act of love sending Liam there to this place that really hasn't changed so much after all of those years.  A place where he will grow to be independent and a place where each summer- for a week- he will be truly happy.

17+ Years Later

Liam and his cousin at campfire.